Swing
by amberpire
Summary: "If it makes you feel any better, my ex stabbed me in the arm and held me hostage in my house by tying me to a chair. So. You know." ;Nolan/Jack; Slash if you squint.


_Swing_

_;;_

Somewhere in the mangled depths of Nolan Ross' massive navy blue comforter, his phone announces at ear-piercing levels the arrival of a call.

Which, in and of itself, obviously isn't all that peculiar. Like most people in the twenty-first century, Nolan's cell-phone is his main device of communication, especially with the people he works with since he avoids all face-to-face contact with those ass-kissing moochers as much as possible. He ignores the majority of their calls anyway.

Then there's Emily. Ignoring her calls is a major no-no. He better be dead or dying if he doesn't pick up – he of all people understands that the girl is notorious for holding grudges. That, and since he kind of made a life-long promise to David to protect Emily to the best of his abilities, he couldn't ever not answer when she called because she could _need_ him or something.

But there's also the spare person he has allowed himself to label as a friend whose existence he actually enjoys enough to spend his time with, and the chance that it could be one of them or the threat of Emily's wrath should he pretend to not hear the obnoxious jingling are the only reasons Nolan bothers to fish around in his sea of blankets before the voicemail can pick up the call. One eye slowly cracks open, a foggy blue iris squinting against the glare of another bright Hampton sun peeking through his window.

After a low grunt of effort, Nolan's walking fingers finally crawl over the square of his phone. He rolls away from the window and brings the glowing screen to his face.

The first thing he notices is that it's almost nine in the morning. If his phone hadn't woken him just then, his natural, well-tuned clock would have shortly after. Jabbing a fist into his eye, he attempts to rub the sleep away while the other reads the name of the caller.

He's so surprised - almost _stunned_ by the name bouncing on his screen, Nolan stops moving altogether for a few moments in disbelief.

Thumbing the green answer button, he presses the phone to his ear. "Jack?"

Jack is one of those handful of people Nolan dares to call a friend, though it had been Nolan who initiated every step of their friendship. It wasn't that Jack didn't like him – Nolan is intuitive enough to have understood that had it been the case – but the man had a business he actually had to attend to on a daily basis, a little and infuriating brother to parent, and, until very recently, a girlfriend. Jack was also, suspicious of Nolan's intentions in the beginning. Rightly so, probably, since most billionaires tended to have social circles that included only people who made somewhere around the same amount of money as they did, and Nolan didn't have any friends to speak of. But Nolan liked Jack, a dying breed of genuinely nice guys in this godforsaken place, so he always made sure to maintain regular contact with the man. And, eventually, Jack warmed up to him, and Nolan watched as his suspicions died away.

It also helps matters that Jack is one of the few people who, for some reason, puts up with Nolan, with all his sarcasm and awkward disposition.

Since things with Emily's plans had absorbed much of his time lately, the spare afternoons Nolan spent talking with Jack at the bar or the evenings lounging on Jack's boat had been limited. He had just seen Jack the day before yesterday when he had delivered the gift of a TV (which, in retrospect, wasn't the best way to go about trying to make Jack feel better after both the physical and emotional pain he had endured post-Amanda, but, in Nolan's defense, he doesn't really know any other way to comfort people that doesn't involve buying them lavish gifts because Nolan doesn't have many friends) but the meeting was short-lived because of errands he reluctantly had to attend to.

"Nolan." The voice, pulling him back to the present, is strained and gruff on the other end, but undeniably Jack's. Nolan blinks for the second time in surprise. "Did I wake you up?"

Nolan grabs a fistful of his blanket and tosses it over his legs. "Of course not. I bring the morning to the Hamptons, Jack, didn't you know?" There's a sound akin to laughter from Jack, but it dies off with a painful groan. Nolan's legs swing over the edge of the bed only for him to freeze. "Are you okay?"

"God." Several tense moments of silence elapse before he goes on to explain, sounding embarrassed. "I hate asking for help since you just purchased a disgustingly expensive television for me. Declan loves it, by the way."

Nolan is already to his dresser, fishing out a polo and a belt. "I'm glad. But don't worry about asking for help, Jack. As long as it's not extremely illegal, I'll probably do whatever I can. Are you hurt?"

"I have three broken ribs, remember?"

"And a broken heart."

Jack huffs into the phone. "Yeah, that too. I would ask Declan to help me, but he's downstairs running the bar while I'm supposed to be healing or whatever, and I kind of … I kind of fell. In my room. And I can't get up. And it hurts like hell."

Nolan's chest tightens with an alien kind of pain, an unfamiliar hurt that he's not used to. Because he never had much people to be empathetic for, he didn't get much practice in. Being as old as he is with such few opportunities to care for another person, it's very difficult and very scary for Nolan to process the fact that he's worried and concerned and the only thing he can think of to do is to get to Jack's place as soon as possible.

"Don't move and risk piercing your lung with a rib bone, okay? I'm going to gargle some mouth wash and be there in ten minutes, tops."

A breathy laugh rushes through the receiver. "Thanks, Nolan."

Nolan hangs up.

In his adolescent years, Nolan received endless amounts of teasing because of how much time he spent in the bathroom making sure every line of his outfit was smoothed out, that his sandy hair fell in just the right way, lining up the buttons of his shirt with the zipper of his pants, alternating bowties to make sure the colors meshed perfectly - getting out of the house was usually quite a chore for the millionaire, but today, Jack needed him, and he didn't really give a damn what he looked like. Nolan bloated his cheeks with mouthwash while kicking off his wrinkled pajama bottoms. They landed in a heap behind the bathroom door along with the white t-shirt he had worn to bed. After yanking the polo over his head - which is pink, which Nolan briefly considers exchanging for a different one because Jack is kind of a manly man, which makes him freeze for a moment before his bathroom mirror before giving a quick shake of his head because he knows Jack doesn't give a shit - Nolan spits the mouthwash into the sink and shimmies into his jeans. He rarely wears denim; the material feels weird on his legs, having grown accustomed to dress pants, but they're easier to move in, and he doesn't know just how much maneuvering he's going to have to do once he gets to Jack's place. Besides, it's a chance for Jack to see him not as a business man, which is a persona that plagues him everywhere his famous name follows.

True to his word, Nolan is out of his house and on the road in five minutes, and at exactly nine minutes since the call ended, he's making his way into the Stowaway. The crowd is thin and consists mainly of older couples - the early birds, and the smell of breakfast is thick in the air. Nolan pauses by the edge of the bar until he spots Declan on the other side of the room, balancing a tray on his hand. He considers just heading toward the stairs without saying anything, but somehow understands that Jack called him in the first place so Declan didn't have to see his older brother in any less of shape than he already had. If he just barged up there like he owned the place, Declan would certainly follow. So he waits, practically gnawing off his knuckle in the time it takes Declan to turn around, tray now tucked under his arm, and to spot him. The teen raises an awkward arm before approaching, swiping his hands along the bouncing curls of his brunette hair.

"A table for one? Waiting for a breakfast date?"

Nolan smiles with one side of his mouth. "I'm actually here for your brother."

Declan clicks his tongue. "He doesn't swing that way, I'm afraid."

The comment earns an annoyed eyebrow twitching upward. "And you would know how, exactly?" Pressing his lips into a smile he doesn't at all feel, Nolan rounds Declan and heads for the stairs. Fortunately, the younger Porter doesn't stop him, and Nolan ascends to the second level of the Stowaway; the music fades, though the smell of sausage and fish is still pretty heavy on his nose.

Declan's words echo in his ears as soon as he's out of sight, moving quicker now that he's not being watched. Nolan scoffs at the idea. Jack just got his heart broken by a known murderer, a girl whose real name Jack didn't even know. Jack doesn't know a lot of things, actually, and Nolan has had to lie to him more than once. Above all things, knowing he has to lie to keep his promise to David, to make sure Emily comes out of this whole fiasco alive, hurts the most if just because of Jack. As far as Nolan knows, Jack has been nothing but honest to him, and Jack deserves that same honesty from him, but he can't. He likes to think it's for his own good, but it doesn't stop Nolan's chest from feeling swollen with lead.

Even if Jack did swing that way, it wouldn't matter. Emily has promptly turned Nolan's life into a shitstorm and the last thing he needs is _feelings_ to worry about - especially after Tyler.

Nolan gives a shake of his head as he nears Jack's room. God, he did not want to think about Tyler. Nolan would rather sink forks lit on fire into his eye sockets than ever think about Tyler ever again.

Luckily for Nolan, he was to Jack's bedroom door by then and knowing that his _friend_ was on the other side, hurt and in need of his assistance, was enough to banish Tyler from his thoughts, if at least temporarily. Nolan saw first the empty bed, sheets wrinkled with the remnants of a sleeping body, and for a moment Nolan is paralyzed by the overwhelming fear that Victoria had sent someone to kidnap Jack on top of everything. For the longest second of his life, Nolan's blood is throbbing in his ears painfully loud and a creeping sense of panic begins to bloom in his chest, and then a hand peeks over the edge of the bed.

"I'm over here," the tired voice says, and Nolan's legs almost buckle from relief.

He rounds the bed. Jack, dark hair impossibly askew from sleep, is tangled in his blankets on the floor beside his bed, propped up on one elbow. A shadow is growing over his chin from days of not shaving and he's topless, the beige chest restraint that is supposed to be aiding Jack in the healing of his ribs currently balled behind Jack's head on the floor. Nolan can see where the three broken ribs are blanketed by green and black bruises on Jack's right side.

Nolan flinches. "You look awful," he says, dipping to one knee.

Jack replies with a grunt. He tries to shift forward, to push himself into a sitting position, only for the most terrible wince to flex across his features. He falls flat on the floor again, panting, eyes squeezed shut. "Jesus Christ."

Nolan hovers for a moment, not sure what to do first. He's never exactly been known for comforting others, let alone taking care of another person when they're in obvious physical pain. His first instinct is to call an ambulance, and his phone is halfway out of his back pocket before Jack suddenly lifts a hand, trying to reach for Nolan, to stop him, but there's too wide of a gap. Nolan stares at the outstretched hand for a moment, instinctively taking it in his own. Jack squeezes Nolan's skinny fingers and shakes his head, chest rising and falling quickly with his breaths.

"Don't, please. I just need to get up and put this thing -" He indicates the chest wrap by nodding his head backward, " - back on, and then I'll just lie down. I'll be okay. Just help me up."

He hesitates, hand still on his phone. He meets Jack's pain strained eyes with a frown. "Fine, but if the pain gets any worse, tell me. I won't have you dying because of your pride. How did this happen, anyway?" Nolan drops to both of his knees, sliding along the floor until he's on the opposite side of Jack's broken ribs. He takes Jack's arm and bends it, curling the limb behind the back of his head.

Jack takes a slow, careful breath. "I was - Jesus, this is going to sound so stupid, but I was having a - a nightmare." Jack avoids Nolan's eyes when the older man stops to look at him. "I thought he was in my room again. The guy. You know. And I was trying to get my gun out of my side table, just, you know, freaking out, and then I fell - _ah_!"

Nolan had begun to straighten his legs but stopped at Jack's painful yelp. One hand braces against Jack's good side, the other hooking beneath the opposite armpit. "I'm sorry," Nolan gushes, his face creased with guilt because he knows that, somewhere along the line, this isn't just Emily's fault - it's his, too. "This is going to hurt, buddy."

"Yeah, okay, okay." Jack's chest swells with a breath.

"Ready?"

Jack nods.

Nolan waits another heartbeat before pumping his legs upward, using the momentum to swing Jack onto the edge of the bed. It doesn't go without a loud groan of pain from Jack, the sound vibrating against Nolan's open palm. Jack's finger's coil in the back of Nolan's shirt so tightly he's sure the fabric will simply give, leaving finger-sized holes behind, but as soon as he's situated, Jack loosens. Nolan reaches for the chest wrap, dropping it over Jack's hung head and urging his arms up so he can get it around the man's broken torso. It takes him a few moments to figure it out, having to flip it twice trying to master the stupid thing, but he finally has it around Jack's chest in the correct position, sealing it with velcro.

Jack releases a loud breath through his clenched teeth. Nolan sits beside him on the bed, one hand on his leg, the other tenderly landing in the center of his back. Jack's eyes are squeezed shut and Nolan studies his face in silence, waiting, guilt pooling in his gut like an anchor.

"Okay," Jack finally says, taking another breath in. A wince crosses his eyes. "Okay." His body relaxes under Nolan's hands but Nolan doesn't pull them back just yet, hovering close. "Thanks."

Nolan's lips struggle with a smile. He's usually so calm, so suave - his charm and ability to remain calm are some of the more famous things he's known for (other than the obvious). But Jack seems to bring out some of the emotions Nolan wishes he could get rid of altogether - like jealousy when Amanda was still in the picture, and envy, and the want to have someone to call a friend, and, that night he and Amanda found him bloody and unconscious on the floor, the paralyzing fear that comes with seeing someone you care about hurt.

"Call me Nanny Nolan from now on." Nolan's smile broadens when Jack raises an eyebrow at him. "Do you want anything to eat?"

"I can get my own water," Jack says, starting to stand. Nolan plants a firm hand against Jack's bare sternum, however, keeping him on the bed.

"Nope. Look, I'm already here, might as well give me something to do, right?"

Jack huffs. "I don't need a babysitter."

Nolan shakes his head, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. "Stay here. I'm your humble servant this morning."

Jack doesn't look happy, but he relents, pulling himself across his mattress until he's braced against the headboard. Nolan crosses the hall into the bathroom, finding a stack of Dixie cups beside a larger cup containing two toothbrushes. One is pink, and for a moment Nolan wonders if maybe Jack actually likes pink, until he remembers that it's probably Amanda's.

Nolan shakes his head. He knew Amanda - or, as he should say, the _real_ Emily Thorne - was going to do nothing but cause trouble. She damn near got Nolan in trouble when she killed that bozo bodyguard, and then she hangs around the Hamptons far longer than necessary. Nolan's teeth grit as he holds the paper cup beneath the faucet, turning the handle with a loud squeak. The worst thing she did, though, wasn't murder or disobey Emily, but dragging innocent Jack into all of this and getting him hurt. If Amanda had left when she was supposed to, Jack wouldn't have gotten jumped - though, he thinks, if Emily had never cooked up this disastrous plot for revenge in the first place, _none_ of this would have happened.

Nolan is not the type of man to linger on 'what-if's, though, so he hurries back to Jack's room and perches on the edge of the bed again, passing over the Dixie cup. Jack downs the water in one go, sighing, balancing the cup on the plane of his stomach. They sit in silence for a while, Jack's eyes far away and unfocused, while Nolan chews his lip and broods quietly.

Then, "I miss her," Jack says, the apple of his throat bobbing with a tight swallow.

Nolan claps a hand on Jack's knee. "I know, buddy. I'm sorry."

Jack looks down at the cup on his chest, then to Nolan. "I thought it was the real deal, you know? Like, the one. My Amanda." He shakes his head. "And then she just ... _leaves_."

"If it makes you feel any better, my ex stabbed me in the arm and held me hostage in my house by tying me to a chair. So. You know."

Jack's lips drip with a frown. "Yeah, but I love Amanda. She wasn't just a fuck buddy."

Nolan isn't an easily insulted man; being an entrepreneur with original ideas means being under severe criticism a lot of the time. Not to mention being rich and famous, at least in the world of business, means he is often made fun of, scrutinized, and insulted. Sometimes, even to his face. And he's always taken it in stride, always given a smug smile and brushed it off because he's successful and he's very good at not giving a shit. But this _stings_ in a way that Nolan is completely alien to, a usually guarded part of his psyche giving a tight cringe as not only Jack's words register, but their tone – an incredulous one, as if Jack couldn't even imagine Nolan actually loving somebody.

Tyler's face bubbles to the surface. Nolan's jaw tightens. The question of whether or not he loved Tyler has come to him more than once. His immediate reaction is that of course he didn't, that what he had with Tyler was strictly for business, for keeping Tyler out of Emily's way – which, in the end, didn't work as well as he had hoped. Tyler was obnoxiously cocky and full of himself, but he was also smart and cunning and Nolan admired that. Tyler was funny. Tyler paid attention to him.

So, no, he didn't love him, but Nolan knows that despite Tyler's arrogance and psychotic tendencies, he _could_ have loved him, if just for the sole fact that Tyler spent time with him.

Which is really pathetic, Nolan is aware, but that doesn't change the fact that it _is_.

Nolan stands. He starts to walk toward the door wordlessly, ignoring Jack as he straightens, his eyes focusing again on the present.

"Nolan, wait, I didn't mean –"

Nolan isn't listening. He's grabbing the doorknob and pulling it open. He likes Jack. He doesn't want to have any reason to dislike him, and if he just walks away now, forgets this whole conversation, then he can go on believing that Jack is a flawless friend.

"Nolan, _please_."

The desperation in Jack's voice causes him to pause. Nolan squeezes the doorknob before looking over his shoulder, and something in his look must be convincing, because Jack melts with regret.

"I'm sorry," Jack says, leaning forward as far as he can to pat the space Nolan had previously occupied. "That was a really shitty thing to say. I just - you didn't talk about him much, and I could only really guess what was going on."

Nolan hovers by the door a moment longer. Then, turning, he lets the door swing closed again and takes slow, short steps back to the bed. Sitting, he keep his eyes focused on the tops of his shoes. "I didn't love Tyler, if that's what you're wondering." Nolan flicks his eyes up briefly, unable to hold Jack's worried gaze. "But I wanted to, I guess. And, I don't know, he's obviously a psychotic asshole, so." Nolan shrugs. Then, finally, he finds Jack's eyes and keeps them there. "You know, just because I'm rich doesn't mean I don't feel things, or want people in my life. Money isn't a substitute."

Jack shifts on the bed. "I know. I didn't mean to imply that." He pauses, running his fingertip along the chest wrap. "You want Emily in your life?"

Without even hesitating, Nolan nods. He likes Emily. She's exactly what her father didn't want her to be, but underneath the thick shell is a sad, lonely girl who just wants to feel better. She's nice to Nolan, respects him, and that's pretty much all it takes to make Nolan happy. "Of course. Emily is my friend."

Jack runs a knuckle along his scratchy chin. "And me?"

Nolan blinks before he gives a light laugh. He touches Jack's leg again. "Yeah, you. Since Tyler went off the deep end, you and Emily ..." Nolan's hand slips away. He plants his elbows on his knees, sucks in a breath, and says, "You're all I have."

Silence threatens to wedge itself between them again. Jack interrupts before it can stretch too long. "I don't have a clue why. You're so charming."

"Right? And I'm gorgeous. I'm flabbergasted by my lack of friends."

"Must be that pink polo."

Nolan laughs. He's not a man frequent laughter, so it rings in his ears like it's out of place - but it belongs in this moment, belongs to Jack.

"What about you, though?" Nolan leans back on his elbows, eyes still trained on Jack. Blonde eyebrows drag themselves down. "You've got a lot of friends. You make friends all the time. Why'd you call _me_? I mean -" Nolan raises his thin arms, "-I'm not even particularly strong or anything. If you just like looking at my face, I could send you a wallet or two."

Jack's smiling. It's a nice thing to see, really. He shakes his head. "I just, I didn't even think about it. I just knew - I knew you'd come." Jack shuffles his legs, one ankle skimming across Nolan's upper arm. "I have a lot of friends. I won't argue that. But that doesn't mean I trust all of them."

Nolan's eyebrows jump across his forehead. "You trust me?" Something swollen and heavy settles in his throat.

Jack doesn't even blink. "Absolutely." His eyes narrow. "Nolan, are you getting emotional over having a _friend_? Jesus, if I knew you were going to cry -"

"I am _not crying_." Except he almost started to. Nolan blinks hard and takes in a breath that hitches despite his best efforts. "Just, you know. Nice to hear sometimes."

"Christ, Nolan." Jack starts to shift across the bed.

"No, don't move, you're going to hurt yourself -"

"Ah, shut up." Jack winces and grunts, but finally manages to position himself beside Nolan. They're close enough for their legs to touch, and Nolan can feel Jack's heat and smell the morning on his breath (which, strangely enough, isn't all that bad). It's Jack's turn to touch Nolan this time, his palm cupping the other man's knee. He meets Nolan's eyes with intimidating intensity - so much so, Nolan would have leaned away if he could find it in himself to move. "I like you, Nolan. You're a strange guy, but you're a good one. You got up and came over here to pick me up off of my _floor_, for Christ's sake." Jack smiles.

Nolan has half a mind to kiss him. They're close and Nolan is _feeling_ things and it both hurts and soothes him, somehow, and he wants to kiss him. Because Jack is _good_, so good, the ultimate Anti-Tyler, and they're both heartbroken and they trust each other and Nolan wants so badly to just feel like he's a good person, too.

But he doesn't.

He doesn't because his life is a shitstorm. Things with Emily are too tense right now, and Jack has three broken ribs, and he needs to get out of this trouble, not more tangled in it. Nolan cares about Jack too much to intentionally drag him further into this.

"Unrelated question," Nolan finally says, his voice tight. "Do you swing that way?"

Surprise startles Jack's features. He blinks, opens his mouth, pulls back, leans close again. "I, uh, I'm not sure, actually."

"When you know for sure, let me know, okay?"

Jack's lips part, eyes curious, studying, but then he grins, squeezing Nolan's knee. "Okay. So, Nanny Nolan -" He winces - dramatically so, touching his chest with an overly tender hand. "I'd get my own breakfast, but I'm so _broken_ and everything -"

Nolan laughs.

Nolan laughs, and he belongs.

_;;_

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** _So, originally, this was supposed to end with a definite Nolan/Jack pairing, but I think I had to get their friendship out of my system first. It's also my first Revenge fic, my first shot at both Nolan and Jack, so I understand it's got some kinks in there. I considered not posting it just for that reason, but I decided that there's at least one person who wanted to see Nolan and Jack be bros. I can't be the only one._

_Hopefully, when I write this pairing again (which I most certainly will) those kinks will smooth out, and we'll get some real Nolan/Jack romance._

_This fandom in general is pretty small, but I hope the few of you who do stumble upon this enjoyed it._


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